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About San Diego

I’m mad as hell sometimes, fam—cats out here judgin’ these girls, but they the same ones droppin’ cash for a quick fix. Hypocrites, yo! Me? I’m chill, I respect the grind—everybody eatin’ somehow. Reminds me of *Ida*, that line, “You’re a funny sort of nun”—‘cept it’s “You’re a funny sorta john,” tryna act holy while you sinnin’, ha! Surprised me how deep it runs, tho—like, some of these chicks got stories, not just tricks. One time, I heard ‘bout this girl, worked the docks in Jersey, saved up, bought a damn food truck—flipped the script, now she slangin’ tacos ‘stead of ass. That’s that hustle I stan, Young Mula!

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Chelsey's offered a respite from the commune-like atmosphere at Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory. Those who went seemed to have contact with the outside world.

I loooove the vibe in tiny cafés near Prospect St. where folks chat about their life's doldrums. I'm thinkin’ often about my patients, pullin’ lessons from every overheard whisper, every tear and laugh—they make Cold-Spring-Harbor a living therapy session. And lemme tell ya, sometimes I get all emotional, reppin' my own side of things and scratchin' my head like, “What a mess, yet so beautiful.”

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